


oh, you fill my head with pieces

by littlethiefs



Series: can i be close to you [1]
Category: The Daevabad Trilogy - S. A. Chakraborty
Genre: F/M, but let me be self-indulgent and give them some time alone for once, but there's uh kissing, i'm too much of a coward to write smut, this is the cheesiest thing I've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25531873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlethiefs/pseuds/littlethiefs
Summary: Set during The City of Brass: Dara sneaks his way into Nahri's room, and attempts to get her to run away with him. Things get dangerously close to exploding when Ali knocks on her door. Nahri, however, manages to talk Dara down - and in their desperation to be close to each other, he stays the night.
Relationships: Darayavahoush e-Afsin/Nahri e-Nahid
Series: can i be close to you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853767
Comments: 9
Kudos: 31
Collections: can i be close to you





	oh, you fill my head with pieces

Nahri took a deep breath, forcing some calm into her voice. “Dara... this doesn’t have to be a bad thing. I’ll be safe. I’ll have all the time and resources to properly train.” Her throat caught. “In another century, there might very well be a Nahid on the throne again.” She glanced up at him, her eyes wet despite her best effort to check her tears. “Isn’t that what you want?”

Dara stared at her. Nahri could see the emotions warring in his expression, but before he could speak, there was a knock at the door.

“Nahri?” a muffled voice called out. A familiar voice.

Smoke curled around Dara’s collar. “Forgive me,” he started in a deadly hush. “Exactly which brother did you agree to marry?”

He was across the room in three strides. Nahri raced after him, throwing herself in front of the door before he could rip it off the hinges. “It’s not what you think,” she whispered. “I’ll get rid of him.”

_ She opened the door to a smiling Alizayd al-Qahtani _ , who greeted her politely, then showed her his bloodstained dishdasha. “I tore some of my stitches,” he said apologetically. “I wanted to wait in the infirmary overnight, but I can’t get the bleeding to stop.” He trailed off. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, forcing a smile she did not feel. She needed to put some distance between Ali and her wild-eyed Afshin, who was now watching her from behind the door.

“Are you sure?” Ali asked.

“I’m sure. Start walking towards the infirmary; I will join you.” Ali looked hesitant, but turned away. Nahri’s gaze met Dara’s then, his eyes feverishly bright with an urgency she had never seen before. Haltingly, she reached out and touched his hand. “Wait for me. I will get rid of him and come back. Dara,  _ please _ .” He pursed his lips, looking at her imploringly for what seemed like an eternity, then gave a single nod.

Nahri sighed in relief, grabbing the chador draped across a chair. She placed it on her head, and traced the steps Ali had taken to the infirmary. The prince was sitting on one of the beds, a hand pressed to his left side. She hurried towards a table that held her needles and thread, and approached Ali, hoping that he wouldn’t be able to tell how antsy she was, how desperately she wanted to get back to her room and  _ fix _ this.

“How did you tear your stitches open?” She asked, not quite curious but hoping that normal conversation would help her calm down.

“It was nothing,” he said quickly. “I, er, tripped.” She could tell he was lying, but she got to work anyway. It seemed everybody here wanted to keep secrets from her. “Have you heard from Darayavahoush?” He asked, and her hand almost slipped while sewing up his skin. Damned fool.

“I almost jabbed the needle right through your barely-healed wound,” she said through gritted teeth. “And no, I have not heard from him.”

“Oh,” Ali said, looking at the floor. “I thought he might come see you.” Nahri said nothing, but finished stitching up his wound. She bandaged his side, then placed her needles back on the table. 

“Don’t do anything to rip them again,” she said, her heart pounding.  _ Go _ , she thought desperately, needing him to leave so she could get back to her room. Mercifully, Ali smiled, nodding his head.

“I will be careful,” he muttered. With that, he exited the infirmary and she saw him make a left - the opposite direction of her room. She exhaled shakily, then made her way back. She hesitated outside the door, playing with the hem of her chador, feeling her heart sinking. She’d never seen Dara like this before. The urgency in his voice, worry and anger and  _ fear _ etched on every inch of his body. She needed him to understand, before he did something supremely stupid. And she  _ would _ make him understand. Nodding to herself, she pushed open her bedroom door, walking into the dark room lit by nothing but a thin beam of moonlight coming through an open window.

He was sitting there, on her bed. Even given the dire situation, the sight made her heart skip. He was looking at her, shoulders slumped, twirling a dagger idly in his hands - a movement she’d seen from him so many times on their long journey together. But he didn’t look arrogant or dashing now, the way he had all those other times. He looked broken. Defeated. 

Nahri pulled off her chador and draped it back on the chair, locking the door behind her. She did not light any candles, but she pulled the curtains open a little more, letting the moon bathe her room in soft light. Only then did she turn and face Dara completely.

“I need you to understand,” Nahri began slowly, her voice soft. “I need you to understand that this is my choice, that I am not being forced to do this.  _ I _ took my proposal to the king.  _ I _ set the terms, and  _ I _ made the decision.”

“But-” Dara said, frustration tinting every note of his voice. “They are not to be trusted. Nahri, these people are the people who took  _ everything _ from me, and I do not want them to take you,” he finished, the moon reflecting on the wetness in his eyes. She crossed the distance between them, dropping down to her knees in front of him.

As upset as she was that Dara had presumed to take away her choice, that he had it in him to do something so reckless… she also understood it. In this moment, she considered how he must be feeling, watching her get in bed with the descendants of the people who had slaughtered his family. Slowly, Nahri pried the dagger from Dara’s fingers and put it on the floor beside her. She took his hand in hers, squeezing it once.

“These are not the people who took everything from you, Dara,” she whispered, afraid to raise her voice should they be interrupted again. It seemed like this was the first time in so long that they were truly alone, and even now, the circumstances were so fragile. “Those people are  _ gone _ . They died a long time ago, and no matter how awful things in this city may be, at least we are not at  _ war _ . Over time, after the king dies… we will be able to fix things. I will have power and influence, and I will be able to do something about the Daevas, the shafit… everyone. Is that not what you want? Peace?”

That seemed to shift something in Dara’s expression. He closed his eyes for a long moment, his grip on her hand so tight it was like he was holding on for dear life. Then he opened them, his eyes meeting hers in the dark. “I do want that,” he whispered back at her. “Forgive me, Nahri. I- it seems that no matter how hard I try, I cannot do right by you.” They looked at each other, hands clasped between them before Dara seemed to remember that this was inappropriate. He stood up and began to pull his hand away, but Nahri refused to let go.

“Stay,” she said. “Stay with me.” She knew she was being crazy. He had made it very clear that day at the temple that he did not want her, but by the Creator, she would be married to some other man soon. A man she knew nothing about. And here Dara stood, handsome and broken as always, silver light dappling his curls, and all she wanted to do was stay with him one more night.

“It is not appropriate,” he said, his voice brimming with regret.

“ _ Fuck _ appropriate, Dara. We’d been sleeping by each other’s side for weeks on our journey, so what’s one more night? Just  _ stay _ with me.” Whatever doubts Dara had had seemed to fade away then, and she knew her Afshin would listen. She let go of his hand, getting up off her knees and slipping under the covers of her bed. Her eyes trailed his form as he removed his bow and quiver, his sword, the khanjar strapped to his boots, and finally his jacket. He draped it over her chador, and Nahri’s breath caught at the intimacy of it, her heart beating an erratic rhythm as she watched him approach the bed. He hesitated again, but took a seat.

“You told them to give me a pensioned position,” he said with his back to her. “The emir wants to send me away to Zariaspa - a governorship is available.” At that, Nahri felt rage boil through her. She had indeed asked for a pensioned position for her Afshin - but she had never asked for him to be sent away.

“I won’t let them send you away,” she growled. “They can keep me from seeing you as much as they want, but you are still my Afshin and you will stay right here in this city, where you belong.” At the conviction in her voice, Dara finally turned to face her.

“They do not want me here, Nahri. The Qahtanis because I am their sworn enemy, the djinn and shafit because I-” he trailed off, a pained expression crossing his face. “Because I have committed horrible crimes against them. I do not blame them for wanting me gone.”

This was her chance to learn about his past, once and for all - and from him. Nahri sat up, pulling her sheets up to her chin. “Dara, tell me what you did.” He looked at her, drinking her in - her wild curls falling past her shoulders, her black eyes wide and nervous, her mouth partly open. It seemed like he was memorizing her, as if this was the last time he would see her. Almost shyly, Dara reached out a hand and touched a knuckle to her cheek, caressing her skin.

“Alright,” he nodded, pulling his hand back. “I only ask that you listen to everything I have to say, and please believe me when I tell you that there is not a day that goes by where I do not wish that I had fallen on my sword instead of doing the things I did. If you want me gone afterwards, I will leave and you will never see me again.” When Nahri simply nodded, feeling her heart thudding loudly in her chest, he began. “I was eighteen when I was sent to Qui-zi…”

By the way he spoke, she knew he thought of this every day. It seemed as if every detail was etched into his memory, details he now gave her with wet eyes and a voice that shook perilously. The picture he painted of an authoritative Nahid Council, bending over this obedient minor with absolute glee as he knelt on the ground before them. As they gave their ‘holy’ orders, Dara’d had to make a choice: slaughter one city or watch another curse befall his race… and how he’d chosen the former. She listened with dread, with horror as he told her of this city - its magnificent gates, streets draped with silk and bustling with people, and how he’d razed it to the ground. How he and his men had slaughtered so many, a Scourge used to determine the color of their blood. How he’d defied one order, and brought back survivors who had then spread the word of what had been done to their people. And how Dara believed that not only did he have Qui-zi’s blood on his hands, but also the blood of his own people. His own family.

When he’d finished, he did not look at her. The silence rang in her ears, and Nahri realized only then that tears were running unchecked down her cheeks. They sat there, an arm’s length apart and yet, he felt so far from her… and Nahri could not look at him either. By the Creator, the things he had done. The man who had taught her how to ride a horse, who had cooked her his family meals and kissed her in the cave… how could that man have so much blood dripping from his hands?

Nahri closed her eyes, resting her forehead against her knees. She could not reconcile the image of the Dara who she loved, and the Dara who had done these awful things. Her hands shook, and she clenched them into fists. His eyes, haunted by his bloody tale, rose up in front of her. How he murmured in his sleep, horrors she could not see plaguing his dreams and regrets she now knew following his every waking moment. She saw his traumatized face back in the ruins of Hierapolis when she’d seen, for the first time, the things he had been through. A thought, unbidden and confusing, rose to her mind then:  _ had he not paid for his crimes, a price that had cost him fourteen centuries of his life, his freedom, his memories _ ?

She looked up at him, his bowed head and his gaze fixed vacantly on the window. He seemed to be very far away, as if she were not even there. His cheeks were wet, but he did not seem to realize it. She understood now, the hateful whispers that followed him around, the fear that he inspired in so many. Her gut twisted, and a fierce denial rose inside her - even as she hated herself for it. That was  _ not _ Dara anymore. That was not the Dara she knew.

But now the pragmatist in her began to ask other questions: would her position in Daevabad ever be safe if he was by her side? Would the djinn or the shafit ever look at her with anything other than contempt? She should send him away - to Zariaspa, or anywhere he wanted to go. 

And even as the thought rose in her mind, she felt her heart stop. Creator forgive her, she did not want him gone. She could not imagine her life in Daevabad without him by her side, giving her crooked grins across crowded rooms and smooth-talking Nisreen into giving them a moment alone. Looking at her softly with his sad eyes, his hands on her chador and her name on his lips. But there was more to it than her own desire: was banishing him  _ justice _ ? Or could he stay by her side, and  _ help _ her? Help his city recover from the wound that centuries-old war had ripped into their world. What would exiling him, yet again, do? Could he not atone for everything he’d done by looking it in the eye and making amends?

She could help him. She would.

“Dara.” His name seemed to snap him out of his daze, and he inclined his head to let her know that he was listening. “Look at me.” Slowly, he lifted his head, his eyes locking on hers.

“It is selfish to ask you this, but-” he hesitated. “Do you hate me? If you do, I will leave. Nahri, I swear to you, you will never see me or hear from me again. Say the words, and I will be gone.”

“I don’t hate you,” she replied simply. “Perhaps I should, but I don’t. You have committed horrible crimes, ones you can’t take back now, but you can make amends, Dara. You are not a lost cause, so stop behaving like one.” At that, Dara’s face crumpled in on itself, and her Afshin began to cry. It was as if she’d loosened a dam, all the regret, guilt and grief he’d carried with him pouring out in one fell swoop. She was stunned, seeing him weep into his hands, silent sobs racking his body. Instinctively, she made her way over to him on her knees, and wrapped her arms around him.

She did not know when they shifted from sitting to lying down on her bed. He hugged her waist with one arm, her fingers tangled in his hair, their tears now drying on their cheeks. One of his hands followed the line of her jaw, then traced circles on her skin, and she closed her eyes, letting him  _ burn _ her. The way he was looking at her was so tender, his expression so soft that she almost wanted to hide from it. Somehow, she suspected she was looking at him the same way - and she knew then, with complete certainty, that he felt the same way about her as she did. 

“You are infuriating, Darayavahoush,” she whispered against his hand. He pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“What have I done to infuriate you now?” he whispered back.

“Ask me to marry someone else when you’re looking at me like that,” she smiled coyly at him, and was immensely pleased to see him look so flustered at her words. “I, for one, can’t believe you turned me down. I’m a catch.”

“Propose to me again and I will say yes, little thief,” he said to her, a smile playing at his lips. Nahri’s stomach flipped at his words, and she could picture it then so clearly: a life spent full of nights like this, just lying next to each other and talking. She ached for it, but even as she wanted it with a ferocity that frightened her, she knew that this was beyond the both of them now.

“I have given the king my word,” she said. “And we need this alliance, Dara. For our people, for the shafit, for peace.” She touched his face, cradling it in her palm. “I can do this, and I need you by my side for it.”

“I will stand by your side for as long as you will have me,” he kissed her fingers, and she shivered at the sensation of his breath against her skin. “Though, I do not know how I will watch you marry a Qahtani.”

“The same way you would have watched me marry a Daeva noble.”

“Unhappily, then. And very drunk. Be careful, Banu Nahida, I may cause a scene.” At his half-smile, her heart leapt to her throat. By the Creator, he had no idea the effect he had on her. She was aware of every single place where their bodies met. His fingers gripping her waist, touching her face, his breath tickling her skin and his thigh touching hers. He was everywhere, the scent of him intoxicating.

“You’re driving me crazy, Dara,” she blurted out, too flustered to care about the open desperation in her voice. His eyes widened in surprise, before his grip on her waist tightened. And then he kissed her.

His lips had barely been on hers for a few seconds when Dara - ever the dutiful Afshin - pulled away. She protested, her fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt. “I am sorry,” he said. “I should not have done that.”

With a scowl, she pressed her body completely to him, her chest flattening against his. Dara sighed against her, the hand on her face traveling down to rest against her neck. “God knows we get interrupted every time we are alone, by impending doom or meddling princes; do  _ you _ have to interrupt too?” His eyes clouded over with desire, and then he was kissing her again, his lips feverishly hot against hers.

She dissolved into him, her hands under his shirt. He pulled her on top of him with ease, his lips finding a spot on her neck that made her gasp. “ _ Oh _ ,” was all the approval she could give him. She fumbled with his shirt, which made him sit up with her on his lap. He took his shirt off in the blink of an eye, before resuming what he’d been doing to her neck. She trailed her hands down his tattooed arms, his broad back before tangling her fingers with his.

“Nahri?”

“Mm?”

“Marry him,” he whispered against her throat, “but be mine in secret.” As difficult as it was to think with his fingers slipping under her dress, the images came to her instantly. Sneaking kisses in dark corridors. Him slipping through her window on nights when she would be alone. Him  _ being _ there with her, every step of the way, with his reassurances and complete faith in her. Even if she could not marry the man she loved, she would be damned if she would let him go now that she had him.

“Yes,” she answered, breathless. He fell back on the bed and pulled her down on top of him.

**Author's Note:**

> "Marry him, but be mine in secret" is a quote from The Winner's Trilogy by Marie Rutkoski. It's a scene that's stuck with me for years, and it's what inspired the fic in the first place.


End file.
